Sweethearts
by Tophatheavy
Summary: What it was like meeting your soul mate before you're 10-years-old. Tara/Jax. You can review. This is my first try at this.


It can really suck when you meet your soul mate when you're in the fourth grade. I know. Cuz that's what happened to me.

Mrs. Chalsky's class, it was the beginning of the school year, about two months in … I can remember because I was sitting there pretending to pay attention to the ins and outs of multiplication when really I was weighing the pros and cons of the two finalists in my "What Halloween costume will make the cut this year" debate.

My best friend, Opie was going as a football player. Which was like so him … I mean, he played pee-wee since we were 5 and he had the uniform already. No imagination, that kid.

I, on the other hand, was going to be Venkman from "Ghostbusters" or a hobo.

My Ma said she could make me a Proton Pack with a cardboard box, tin foil and the old vacuum hoses that quit working.

Probably I was going as a Ghostbuster. A Ghostbuster and a football player marching around the streets of Charming, great … of course, for the past month, Opie and I had been plotting how to keep our trick-or-treat bags from getting jacked by those sucker seventh-graders.

Anyway. Mrs. Chalsky was yammering on and I already KNEW multiplication because I was in the "gifted and talented" program but my teacher for that was out sick for the week.

So I had to hang out hearing about stuff I already knew.

But back to the soul mate thing, like I was saying.

About half way through the "Nine is a magical number" number, in she walks, shepherded by Principal Dempsey, a woman with hair so red, she looked like she'd be right at home at a carnival or circus.

A girl. A new girl. That's like the best thing that can happen in elementary school. Having a new kid get put in your class. I don't know why.

So, here she was and I wasn't even really paying attention. I was probably trying to figure out how I could bribe Ope into dressing like Spengler.

Principal Dempsey cleared her throat.

Other than my mother, I was never more scared of a woman.

So I looked up and the girl with her was looking down at her red sneakers. The kind with white rubber going over the toes. Jeans and a pink turtleneck with tiny brown flowers on it. Her dark hair was pulled back in two low pigtails. Don't ask me how I remember all this, but it was like yesterday. New Girl never looked up from her shoes.

"Mrs. Chalsky, children," Principal Dempsey said. "I'd like you to say 'Hello' to our newest student, Tara Knowles. Just moved to Charming from Phoenix. I know you'll make her feel at home here."

"Tara? Is it," Mrs. Chalsky asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl said in a whisper.

"Jackson Teller," the teacher barked. "Raise your hand."

So I did.

"You can have a seat next to Mr. Teller," Chalsky said. "He hasn't bitten anyone in almost two weeks. We're very proud of him."

A grin spread across the new kid's face. She got the joke. Cool.

The whole time she never looked up from the floor for more than a fleeting glance around. She walked to the empty chair next to mine.

We'd wind up sharing a two-person desk for the rest of the year.

She slid into the seat. She didn't have anything. No pencil, no paper.

"Hi," I ventured.

Finally, she looked up, looked at me. Her eyes were green like lake water.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

Dang. Those eyes. That smile. I was a goner.

* * *

Everyone knew she was "my girl." We had been best friends – me, Opie and Tara – since the day she walked into Mrs. Chalsky's classroom in the fourth grade.

Opie went along because Tara could throw a perfect spiral and she sometimes wore her hair like Princess Leia on the weekends when we rode our bikes around Charming and she had the best dog in the world, named Archie that went with us everywhere.

We stayed friends even as we went on into Charming Middle School. Me and Tara were tracked into the "advanced schedule" where we took English and math classes a year ahead of our friends.

My first kiss was Tara Knowles. I'll tell you the story. It's not that exciting. We had a lot better "firsts" to come.

But we were 11, riding our bikes home from a Saturday matinee at father's dad's movie theater. We spent about every weekend there.

Opie peeled off when he got to his driveway. A driveway full of the Harleys. My dad's included. Some sort of barbecue.

"Y'all coming," he asked.

"I told my dad I'd be home at 5," Tara called out from her perch on my handlebars. The chain of her pink Huffy kept coming undone, it was just easier for her to ride with one of us.

"Alright," Opie said. "See you later, losers."

"Tell my folks I'll be at home, will ya," I said.

"Maybe," he hollered, as me and Tara rounded the corner toward her house.

When we got there, no one was home. Her father was always working some angle. She unlocked the door with the key she kept tied to a shoestring she wore around her neck.

I had stayed on my bike in the driveway, just making sure she got in the house OK when I got this urge.

"Hey, T," I called out. She spun around on the porch to look at me, just like she'd always done before. The sun setting, making those green eyes like my kryptonite.

"What," she asked, sort of impatiently. She was so impatient all the time.

"I'm pretty sure that I love you," I said.

She bounced down those porch steps all serious. I thought she was going to punch me in my face. She had done it before for fewer offenses than my declaration of love.

She stood in front of me with that face she made when she was working out a tough math question.

"Pretty sure?" she asked.

"Well, I …"

"Put your money where your mouth is, Teller."

"Tara? I love you. I do. You. I. Love."

"I think you should kiss me."

"I should?"

"Kiss me Jackie."

So I did. Couldn't have lasted more than two seconds. Me leaning over my BMX handlebars, she just is standing in her driveway in cut-off jeans and a Dukes on Hazzard t-shirt.

"I love you too," she twinkled. Then she took off back to those steps.

"Will you marry me?" I was desperate, calling out to her. She whirled around.

"Yes. I think we should get married … but first I want to be a stewardess."

* * *

We kissed all the time after that. Just kissed or held hands or sussed out math problems or worked on English papers. After school when our parents were at work or doing God knows what, we'd make out like 13-year-olds do.

Then came the summer before sophomore year at Charming High. Tara went from tomboy to bombshell in a matter of months.

Training bras I could feel from the outside of a t-shirt gave way to lace contraptions I learned to unclasp with one hand and later with my teeth.

I particularly liked the models that hooked in the front. After shucking her shirt, I felt like I was unwrapping a Christmas present any time we got an hour together.

Hell, give us 10, 15 minutes alone. We'd find a way.

In between classes we'd meet up between lockers and get as far as we could. Let's just say I was an expert at carrying my books strategically.

God, we couldn't wait until last bell when we could hole up in one of our rooms under the guise of "doing homework."

And, man, my father adored Tara.

This was the summer before he died.

He thought she was smart and witty. Tough and wise.

"Like your mother," he said once.

Tara and my mother were two peas in a pod. I know my girl wanted to be like Gemma. Although, I never could figure out why.

Tara was the smartest person in school. I mean, I was smart.

That green-eyed girl though? She was on a whole different level.

But we always had fun together.

Especially when Donna and Opie finally got together. Donna weighed in at about what? 90 pounds? Opie was the size of a God damned Redwood.

But they were always a good fit. Guess Ope has his own story to tell about meeting the girl who would become the woman whose named you'd get tattooed on your arm without hesitation.

I mean, truth be told … Tara has that crow on her lower back, and as much as she hates the club, Donna has that same tat on her hip.

Hell, I've got "Tara" inked on my inner wrist – my heart on my sleeve, you could say.

After my son was born I got his name, "Abel" tattooed under my sweetheart's. (Years before Abel's arrival, I would refuse to get any ink for Wendy, although she got that damn crow for me. I never did right by my wife. And for that I'll remain forever sorry.)

Wendy Case was three years ahead of us in school. She was always running 100 mph, you know? One of those girls that even the craziest guys shy away from.

But whatever. Tara had long split, living a life I didn't think I could ever fit into. I started wearing a thick-banded watch over "Tara" on my wrist and dove into a relationship with that crazy-ass Wendy.

It was alright for a while, and then it wasn't anymore. She never stopped going that 100 mph.

She didn't have a library card. She couldn't throw a spiral. She didn't breathe my name in my ear like it was a prayer while I was rocking on top of her the way Tara did.

Wendy always needed money but our house was always two steps away from being a damn hurricane just tore through.

She wasn't a bad person. And I loved her. I'll always have a soft spot for her, she was always on my side, no matter what. She gave me my son. I'll forever feel guilty about letting her face all her demons alone. She knew it, but she loved me anyway, for some damn reason. She loved me knowing full well her place in my life.

She just wasn't the one.

* * *

The thing I admired about Tara was that she was always up for it.

Whatever it was, she was game.

My dad taught her to ride a motorcycle the summer before he was gone forever. She wanted to learn just because she thought it looked like fun.

"Well, I don't want to see the world looking over Jax's shoulder for the rest of my life, do I?" she said to my dad one of those many nights when she ate dinner at our house. "If you don't think you can handle it Big John, I'm sure Piney can."

Lemme tell you this, Gemma Teller Morrow doesn't know how to drive a bike, but Tara Knowles does.

There you go, right there.

In a matter of months, my father would be dead. My mother would sort of lose her mind and I would count on Tara to keep me from turning out like either one of my parents.


End file.
